‘Will be with you as soon as possible. Of course.’
Between thirty-five and fifty years old. Beatrice searched despondently through the information on male missing persons, expanding her search to the whole of Austria. Three of the notices had been filed in the last week, but the individuals in question were either older or significantly younger. So was no one missing the man whose hand they had found?
She scrolled through the remaining reports, one after the other, searching for possible connections to Nora Papenberg, for similar professions. When she next glanced at the clock, over two hours had passed. Damn it! She jumped up, wrenched her bag from the back of the chair and dashed towards the door. She’d be lucky to get there on time, yet again.
The traffic was heavy, as it always was on Fridays, and by the time Beatrice finally pulled up at the school she could see Mina and Jakob sitting on a bench in front of the entrance, waiting for her. Mina was gesticulating in front of Jakob’s face, clearly giving him an important pedagogical speech.
‘You’re late,’ said Mina accusingly as she got into the car.
‘I know, I’m sorry. Did you guys have a good day?’
‘We made an alphabet chain,’ crowed Jakob cheerfully. ‘Do you know what my favourite letter is?’
‘Hmm. J?’
‘No, X. Exxxxx!’ He pronounced it, savouring the sound.
‘And how was your day, Mina?’
‘It was okay. Can we drive a bit quicker?’
Back at home, Mina rushed straight over to her bag, which was half-packed in the children’s room, and stuffed two of her bathing suits in it. Beatrice put some fish fingers in a pan on the stove, checked Jakob’s report book for any messages announcing impending disaster, then added jackets, rain trousers, pullovers and an additional pair of shoes to their bags.
‘Has Papa already bought you toothbrushes?’
‘Yes. Mine is green and has a car on it,’ cried Jakob. ‘Can I watch TV?’
‘No, lunch is nearly ready.’
The frozen fish fingers were sizzling away nicely, but they only had fifteen minutes. She was sure to have forgotten something – oh, God, their pyjamas.
‘No one go near the stove,’ she ordered, running over to the cupboard to take out two pairs of pyjamas.
Her mobile vibrated on the worktop, playing the first few bars of ‘Message in a Bottle’, signalling the arrival of a text message.
If there was a guardian angel for single mothers, then it would be a text from Achim saying that he was stuck in traffic and running late. Beatrice stuffed the pyjamas in the bag and reached for the mobile, pulling a fork from the cutlery drawer with her other hand to check the fish fingers.
‘Wash your hands, you two, dinner will be ready soon!’ she called towards the children’s bedroom, turning up the heat before wiping her fingers on a kitchen towel and pressing the menu button on the mobile. She opened the message.
It was from an unknown number, and it consisted of just one word.
Slow.
Her first thought was that it was a wrong number. What was it supposed to mean? Was someone asking her to slow down? She stared at the display, trying to make some sense of the message, then remembered the fish fingers. She pulled the pan off the hob.
‘Come and sit down at the table!’
Slow. The word crept into her consciousness as if it were trying to illustrate its own meaning. Could it be … that the Owner was making contact with her? Was that possible?
All of a sudden, she felt hot, far hotter than standing over the stove had made her.
In his cache message, he had addressed the police directly. What if he was doing it again? Did he want to make contact personally? But – why with her? And where would he have got her number from?
‘Mama, I want ketchup!’ Jakob’s voice forced its way into her mind as if from afar. She had to be patient for a moment longer. Soon Achim would be here, and then …
‘I’ll get it. Leave Mina’s glass alone.’
‘But she’s got more juice!’
Beatrice decided she would call the number. That would be much better than spending her time guessing. But only once the children had gone.
When the doorbell rang, Jakob was just shoving the last bite of fish finger into his mouth. ‘Papa!’ He jumped up, knocking his chair over in the process, and ran out into the hallway.
Beatrice ran after him, but Jakob had already managed to reach the intercom system. ‘Papa?’ he mumbled with his mouth full.
She took the receiver from his hand. ‘You know very well that you’re not allowed to buzz anyone in!’
‘But—’
‘No buts. Go and wash your face. You’re covered in ketchup.’
The irritated snort that came through the intercom was sufficient for her to be sure it was Achim at the door. Beatrice pressed to buzz him in, hearing his footsteps on the stairs seconds later. For a moment she wished she could run away and avoid seeing him, but by then his head, with its thinning blond hair, was already visible through the banisters.
‘Hello,’ she said, attempting a smile which was intended to signify a willingness to be civil. ‘The children are almost ready.’
He glanced at her briefly and didn’t even reply.
‘Papa!’ cheered Mina from behind her. ‘Guess what? Today at school I was the only one who knew that Helsinki was the capital of Finland!’
‘That’s excellent, Mouse. You’re the best.’ Achim leant over to Mina and pressed her against him, prompting unexpected tears to well up in Beatrice’s eyes. For heaven’s sake, what was wrong with her? She turned away quickly and fetched the children’s bags. Despite the fact that Achim still refused to look at her, she used all the energy she had to keep her smile going. In five minutes’ time, the encounter would be over. At her side, Jakob was tugging at her trouser leg. ‘Mama?’
‘Yes?’
‘Can’t you come too?’
She knelt down next to him. ‘No, unfortunately I can’t. But you’ll have a great time, and if you want you can call me in the evening. Okay?’
He nodded uncertainly. ‘I packed Fleece,’ he whispered. ‘Do you think Papa will be mad at me?’
Fleece. Also known as the grubbiest toy rabbit in the world.
‘No, Papa understands that you can’t sleep without him.’
Achim had released Mina from their hug. ‘Come on, kids. Let’s get some fresh air, it smells awful in here!’
‘I don’t think so,’ protested Jakob. ‘It’s fish finger air!’
‘Exactly.’ A disdainful shake of the head as he rolled his eyes. ‘And let’s make sure you get a proper dinner tonight too. Come on, we’re off!’
Beatrice hugged her children. Mina was in a hurry, struggling to get loose. ‘Are we buying the cat soon?’ she asked as she ran down the steps. ‘I’ve already thought of a name.’
‘Remember, Sunday at half-six, on the dot,’ said Achim to Beatrice, before taking Jakob by the hand and leaving. Instead of waiting until they were out of sight, Beatrice shut the door right away. Only now did she realise how hard she had been gritting her teeth; they were hurting.
She flung the window open, letting fresh air into the apartment. She could hear Jakob’s cheerful jabbering coming from downstairs, and she felt her stomach clench painfully. Then she remembered the message on her mobile. Slow.
The prefix was, if she wasn’t mistaken, that of a prepaid provider which sold cards and top-up codes in supermarkets. Beatrice opened the message and pressed ‘Call’.
A friendly female voice informed her that the connection was not available right now and that she should try again later.
Slow. It’s an observation. Or an accusation. Directed at us because we haven’t yet decoded the clues to the next stage?
If that was the case, then the Owner had exposed himself in a way that could prove to be his downfall. Slamming the window shut with a bang, Beatrice grabbed her car keys from the counter and set off back to the office.<
br />
The Department of Public Prosecutions took less than an hour to approve her request to have the mobile phone located. While Beatrice sat with the phone to her ear, waiting to be put through to the technical department of the mobile provider, her gaze fell on a new neon pink Post-it that Hoffmann had stuck to her monitor. Meeting on Monday, 3 p.m., attendance compulsory. Wonderful. That was sure to be the highlight of her day.
A young male voice spoke up at the other end of the line. ‘What can I do for you?’
‘Beatrice Kaspary, Landeskriminalamt. I need some information about the number 0691 243 57 33. I’d like to know whether it’s contracted or a prepaid mobile.’
Silence. Then: ‘You’re from the LKA?’
‘Yes, Beatrice Kaspary, Murder Investigation Department.’
The sound of paper rustling. The clatter of a keyboard. ‘It’s a prepaid card.’
Shit. ‘So I presume you can’t tell me who it belongs to?’
‘No, I’m afraid not. People don’t have to give any ID when—’
‘I understand,’ she interrupted. ‘Okay, then in that case I need the mobile’s identifier. A message was sent from the number at 13.17 to the following recipient.’ Beatrice recited her own number. ‘I’d also like to know which network the device was connected to at the time. How long will it take you to get that information?’
She must have sounded extremely bossy, as when the man at the other end answered, his voice sounded both intimidated and defiant at the same time. ‘I’m not sure. It’s the weekend, so I’ll need to see if there’s someone here who can—’
‘If no one’s there, then you’ll have to get someone there!’ She tried to rein herself in and adopt a more friendly tone, but her insides were vibrating like a plucked guitar string. ‘It’s important. It would be an immense help if you could get the information to me as soon as possible.’
‘I’ll see what I can do.’
Beatrice hung up and propped her face in her hands. Slow? If we are, then it’s certainly not because of me.
She pulled the pathologist’s report towards her and immersed herself in the details relating to the severed hand.
The sawdust which had been found in the wound came from bay and spruce trees – the most common in the local area, so not very helpful. Earth had been found under the fingernails, and there were also traces of soapy water on the skin – presumably the killer had washed the hand before shrink-wrapping it—
‘Beatrice?’
She jumped. She hadn’t heard Stefan come in.
‘Yes?’
‘I spoke to the agency earlier – they’ll all be there if we go now.’ He smiled, shy and excited, as if he had just asked to open a Christmas present two days early and was now waiting expectantly for her permission.
She couldn’t help but smile back. ‘Right. Thanks for taking care of that. I’ll just get my things together. Can you grab the Dictaphone?’
The stale biscuits laid out in a bowl on the circular conference table seemed appropriate for the sombre occasion. Two men and three women were sitting around the table. When Beatrice and Stefan walked in, the taller of the men stood up and stretched out his hand. ‘Max Winstatt. I’m the owner of the agency, and I want to offer whatever assistance I can to help you find out how Nora died.’ His accent indicated that he wasn’t from Salzburg; perhaps the Ruhr valley, thought Beatrice.
‘I’m Kommissarin Beatrice Kaspary, and this is my colleague Stefan Gerlach.’ She put her bag down on a vacant chair. ‘Is there a room where we can talk without any interruptions? I’d like to speak with each of you alone.’
Winstatt nodded emphatically and led Beatrice into a neighbouring room, which was dominated by a large glass desk. ‘You can use my office.’ He paused at the door. ‘Rosa, could you bring us some coffee, please?’ he called out. ‘You’ll have a cup, won’t you, Frau Kaspary? With milk and sugar? We’re all so devastated by Nora’s death, it’s hard to believe she was …’
Beatrice waved Stefan over to put the Dictaphone on the desk. She took her notepad and pen out from her bag.
‘We can start with you if that’s okay, Herr Winstatt. Would you please close the door?’
He followed her command at once, then sat down in his chair and clasped his hands on the desk.
‘Could you describe for me the evening of Nora’s disappearance – from your perspective? Everything you can remember about the course of events, and of course everything that relates to Nora herself.’
He paused a moment before starting to speak. Good. Perhaps that meant there was more to his rhetoric than just smooth clichés.
‘We reserved a table at the restaurant for 7 p.m., and Nora was one of the first to arrive. She was in a cheerful mood and seemed completely carefree, if you know what I mean.’
Beatrice nodded. ‘What was she wearing?’
He only had to think for a moment. ‘A red jacket. Trousers. I can’t remember what was under the jacket, something nondescript. But Rosa took some photos that evening. Erich too, on his mobile, if I’m not mistaken.’
Beatrice and Stefan exchanged surprised looks. ‘Excellent. Do you have the photos here?’
‘I’m sure Erich has his phone on him, and Rosa might have her camera too. It’s one of those compact ones, so they’re really easy to carry around with—’
‘Okay,’ Beatrice interrupted. ‘Let’s come back to the photos in a moment. So, Nora was there early and in a good mood. What happened next?’
‘We all had an aperitif, and then I made a short speech. We had just managed to secure a budget which is amazing for a company the size of ours, you see – that’s why we were celebrating. Then we ordered the food.’
‘Was Nora sitting next to you?’
‘No, she was next to Irene. Irene Grabner, she’s a copywriter too. But I know what she ordered – fish soup to start, then sweetbreads in Madeira sauce. I had the same, that’s why I remember …’
What an inappropriate moment to become aware of the emptiness of her own stomach. Beatrice thought with dull longing of the biscuits on the conference-room table.
‘We all had wine too, in case that’s important,’ Winstatt continued.
There was a knock at the door, and one of the female employees came in balancing a tray with three coffee cups.
‘Are you Rosa?’ asked Beatrice.
‘Yes,’ said the woman, looking at her boss hesitantly. ‘Rosa Drabcek.’
‘Do you have your camera with you? The one with the pictures from the work dinner?’
‘I … I think so. I’ll go and see.’
‘Then we’ll speak to you next.’ Beatrice took one of the cups with a grateful smile, then sipped the coffee. Black and strong. Her stomach contracted in protest, but she drank another sip regardless.
‘So, you had wine.’ She picked the topic of conversation back up. ‘Did Nora drink a lot?’
Winstatt hesitated. ‘No, I mean … one glass, or maybe two. Plus the Prosecco we had at the beginning of the evening. She certainly wasn’t drunk, if that’s what you mean. Slightly tipsy at most.’ He stared down at the table, embarrassed. ‘Do you think she would have had a better chance against her murderer if she had been completely sober?’
‘That’s hard to say. Please continue.’
She could see from his face that he was trying to compose himself. ‘We were halfway through the main course when her mobile rang. She took it out from her handbag and made some jokey comment about her husband. Then she said something like, “Oh, it’s not him,” and answered it. We carried on talking, of course, so I don’t know what she was speaking to the caller about, but after a few seconds she got up and went off towards the toilets with her phone.’
‘As if she didn’t want anyone at the table to hear her conversation?’ Beatrice interrupted.
‘Yes. Or perhaps it was just too loud and she wanted to find somewhere quieter to talk. That was the impression I had, at least. But if I’m honest I wasn’t really paying that m
uch attention to Nora at the time.’
The telephone conversation. She glanced questioningly at Stefan. He understood at once and, in a barely perceptible movement, shook his head. That meant the list of Nora’s phone conversations which they had requested from the provider hadn’t arrived yet.
‘She wasn’t on the phone for that long,’ continued Winstatt. ‘Three, maybe four minutes. Then she came back to the table.’
‘Did she carry on eating?’
Winstatt shrugged his shoulders apologetically. ‘I’m not sure, sorry. Probably. But then she left about twenty minutes later. She said she was heading back home, that she had a headache.’
That corresponded to what Beatrice had found out from Konrad Papenberg.
‘When she left the restaurant – was she alone, or did anyone else leave at the same time?’
This time, Winstatt shook his head decisively. ‘She was definitely alone. It wasn’t much later than half-nine, and we tried to convince her to stay, but she didn’t want to. She looked pretty exhausted too, so I don’t think she was feeling very well.’
‘Okay. Thank you. Right, so I’d like to speak with …’ She glanced at her notes. ‘Rosa Drabcek next. And also see the pictures on her camera if I can.’
Rosa Drabcek wasn’t a secretary but an executive assistant, as she emphasised right at the start of the conversation. Stefan, who had unwittingly stuck his foot in it by mentioning the word ‘secretary’ as they introduced themselves, nodded guiltily. Beatrice, on the other hand, only had eyes for the camera, the small, metallic blue device that was resting in Drabcek’s hands.
‘I haven’t yet downloaded the pictures from the meal,’ she said apologetically, ‘but the display is quite big, so you should be able to see everything well enough.’ She turned the camera on, activated the viewing mode and handed it to Beatrice. ‘I took quite a lot of pictures, but I hope they can be of help in some way.’
Hohensalzburg Castle, illuminated at night, was captured in at least ten images. There was a wonderful view from the restaurant over to the mountain and castle, and it was clear that the executive assistant hadn’t been able to get enough of it.
Five Page 7
